


we make our own peace

by lostinthefire



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BDSM, BDSM as coping, Bondage, Collars, Dom Steve Rogers, Hand Feeding, M/M, Master/Pet, Non-Sexual Kink, Sub Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:45:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4244838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinthefire/pseuds/lostinthefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With a collar around his neck and hands in his hair, Bucky learns what safety feels like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we make our own peace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BettiSteam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BettiSteam/gifts).



> Unbetaed, so any mistakes are totally mine.

Within the walls of their apartment, Bucky learns what it’s like to be safe again. It’s a foreign concept to his mind but he learns, slowly and steadily, that it is something he is allowed to have.

Missions aren’t helpful to his learning though. Missions set off shrieking sirens that tell him everything is going to go wrong, that people are coming for him, that he doesn’t get to keep the comforts he’s gained.. They are a reminder that the world is dangerous, sharp and waiting to come barging in just when he thinks everything is relaxed and comfortable.

He hates missions.

It’s so hard to come out of it, to go back and look at the apartment and remember that he can and should feel safe there, that he can relax and that everything will be okay. His optimism runs low while his paranoia and fear race through his brain like playful children.

He knows Steve can feel it too, that promise of safety and the lie they both know it actually is. They’re both share the tension when they come back, startling at small noises hyper-aware of everything around them. They’ll perform checks of the apartment, looking for anything that could have been planted while they were away, even though nothing ever comes of it.

THe only thing waiting for them are old ghosts and the creeping sense that they’ve missed something.

And while it’s usually Steve who comes to the conclusion first, Bucky finds himself needing things to move more quickly than normal. He leaves the living room, taking careful, quiet steps into their bedroom and digging around the night-stand until he pulls out the worn in, blue, leather collar. For a moment he just stands there, feeling the leather between his fingers and taking such care in holding it. It was like he had unearthed a treasure, a gift he couldn’t believe was his. Then he returns to the living room, crouches in front of Steve and holds the collar out, his head bowed. 

Steve takes it with the same gentleness as Bucky had when pulling it out. He looks at it, then to him and nods. They both know that this helps, that the collar is a comfort and a sign of security in Bucky’s head. For a long time, he wondered what Steve got out of this whole thing, how he was able to do this for him but after a time, it stopped mattering. It helped him too and that was all that mattered.

After the collar is secured, Bucky doesn’t move until Steve says it’s all right, sometimes with a verbal acknowledgment or sometimes simply with his hand reaching down, tilting Bucky’s head up and brushing the hair out of his eyes.

Only then does Bucky dare shift, settling in against Steve’s leg, his cheek resting against Steve’s thigh and his eyes falling shut. The other runs his hands through his hair, playing with it and petting him like one does a beloved animal.

They do this for a while and Bucky finds such reassurance in it. He knows, when he’s here, sitting at Steve’s feet, his hands in his hair, he doesn’t have to think. He doesn’t have to worry. All he has to really concentrate on is the fingers touching his skin and whatever commands are given to him. 

At one point, Steve asked him if this helped, if this wasn’t some sort of backslide into how things used to be when he was the Soldier.

“Might be,” he says simply, the desire to lie about this crosing his mind but unable to make it to his lips. “But you gotta admit, it could be worse.”

Steve only nodded at him and they didn’t really talk about it again after that.

He’s pretty sure there were a number of conversations with Sam after that, and probably before too, but it didn’t matter to him. As long as Steve would keep helping him, securing that collar around his neck and silently promising safety with it, he didn’t entirely care.

Soon enough his stomach starts calling out for food and he makes a small, grumbling noise and looks up to Steve. Food is one of the things he finds absolutely magnificent about the world. Even something simple like a sandwich carries a great weight to it in his eyes. Everything is still new, still fresh and he enjoys it so much.

He enjoys the fact that, when he is hungry, he gets solid food at all. Too often he’d been shoved a protein shake during long missions or simply had a feeding tube pushed down his throat. Real food, food that he could pick and choose for himself, or food that Steve would choose for him to try, was not an option before. Hell it had hardly a dream.

Steve hears him grumbling and laughs a little, running his hands down the back of his neck before moving carefully to his feet. 

“Stay,” he says and Bucky nod, obedient and happy knowing that he’ll get a treat for being so.

He comes back with strawberries and, to Bucky’s delight, a jar of Nutella. The latter earns Steve a headbutt to his knee and a small pleased noise.

He seemed pleased by it himself and starts coating some of the spread onto a strawberry, a little bit getting onto his hand, before offering it out to Bucky who eagerly eats it straight from his fingertips, his tongue darting out to lick the stray Nutella with utter delight in his expression

“Gentle,” Steve cautions but it’s hardly something that needs to be said. Bucky doesn’t bite and while he does have the habit of eating quickly, with Steve pacing the food, he won’t be caught in that cycle this time.

Bucky happily sits and happily lets himself be hand fed for a good while, both of them falling into a rhythm. There’s something not quite right though, he can feel it in the way Steve moves. There’s still tension there

And on days like this, he knows what to do. 

He points toward the bedroom door, head tilting. He doesn’t use words unless he absolutely has to, and Steve nods, sitting back and letting him get to his feet. Bucky moves swiftly, rising up and then going inside again.

This time he comes back with rope.

Steve arches his eyebrows for a moment but takes it nonetheless. He ghosts his fingers over it, twisting it up in his hands for a moment before he nods, looking up at Bucky.

“Are you sure.”

Bucky nods, confidence in his expression that this is the kind of day where rope is okay.

Sometimes he can’t. Sometimes the rope on his skin, even with it being a different texture and a different situation entirely, triggers things he doesn’t want to deal with. Today though, is a good day. He can do this for Steve and he wants. to.

Steve unbinds the rope and looks Bucky up and down, then peers at the rope itself. It’s black hemp, the standard starter for them but Steve seems to have other plans.

He gets to his feet, telling Bucky to stay once more, before vanishing for a moment and coming back with purple, green and silver rope, the same kind as the black, though some are different lengths.

He sets to work then, doing a simple tie around Bucky’s wrists as he seems to consider what he wants to do. Bucky stays quiet for this too, knowing that he can speak but choosing not to. He’ll code out if he must but he likes to leave Steve to his thoughts when he’s doing this sort of thing.

After a few moments of fiddling with the rope, both on Bucky’s skin and within his hands, Steve seems to know what he’s doing and sets to work, Moving Bucky like a doll, manipulating him the way he needs to so that he might get the ties to lay comfortably on him.

Bucky doesn’t mind in the least, he’s happy to be bent in whatever way Steve needs him to be for the sake of artistry. He finds it comforting in a way, another place he doesn’t have to really think and instead, he becomes a piece of art, at least for a little while.

To know that he’s helping, to know that Steve will feel comfortable after all this is said and done, makes everything worth it. Even if he wasn’t getting anything out of it, he would be doing this for him. Because he deserves to have someone help him regain his own equilibrium and remember that the world is not just battles and blood.

That there’s safety and art and comforting things to be had if they can just make it home from one more fight.

Steve keeps him like that for a while, tied up and settled in a position that’s comfortable enough to being for an extended amount of time. The light is good in their bedroom, and Bucky is far from surprised when he sees the sketchbook come out.

It’s almost a part of the ritual as much as anything else. He doesn’t mind though, the scratch of pencil on paper, the ropes around him, the feel of sunlight on his skin and Steve’s breathing? They all pull him into a easy state where he can practically fall asleep.

But soon enough Steve is setting down the sketchbook and saying his name softly to get him to join the world again. 

“Hey there, Buck.” Steve runs a hand through his hair and down his cheek, gentle with his touch before he moves to start untying him.

“How’re you feeling,” Bucky asks, watching Steve undo his work. Sometimes he almost feels guilty at this part, watching all that work fall away and leaving only him there as a consolation. But Steve seems to get something out of freeing him just as much as he gets something from binding him, so it didn’t really matter.

“I’m holding up,” He assures, putting the rope in proper order as he does so. “You still okay?”

Bucky nods, leaning forward so he resting his forehead against him. He hums a soft sound as he considers something , then, carefully he poses a question.

“Can I keep it on tonight?” He taps the collar with two fingers, looking up at Steve as he finishes taking care of the ropes.

Steve nods, not even a second of thought passing through his head. “Yeah, I…Yeah.”

He’s still learning what safety means, what comfort and security feel like. Right now though, they feel like his knees on the floor, a hand in his hair and a collar at his throat.

Some people might say that what they’re doing is wrong, that they’re not coping right, not adjusting to the world the way a normal person should. Bucky couldn’t give less of a damn about those people. 

They make their own peace, crafting it out of leather and rope and anything else that fits. Safety is hard to imagine but in moments like this, he thinks he can learn.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me elsewhere:  
> [My DW](http://rootsofthestories.dreamwidth.org) (which I use regularly)  
> [My Tumblr](http://analtarofstars.tumblr.com/) (which I am very rarely on)  
> [My Twitter](http://twitter.com/harvestgraces) (which I am on at random)


End file.
